


Ignis Scientia Needs a Hug

by TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Platonic Male/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous/pseuds/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous
Summary: What it says on the tin. Compilation request fill for: "Ignis needs more hugs."1560s, hugge "to embrace," of unknown origin; perhaps from Old Norse hugga "to comfort," from hugr "courage, mood," from Proto-Germanic *hugjan, related to Old English hycgan "to think, consider," Gothic hugs "mind, soul, thought." Other have noted the similarity in some senses to German hegen "to foster, cherish," originally "to enclose with a hedge." Related: Hugged; hugging. The noun was originally (1610s) a hold in wrestling. Meaning "affectionate embrace" is from 1650s.





	1. [Young] Noctis and [Young] Ignis

“Can I have another one?”

 

“It's already late, Highness. You should get some sleep.”

 

“Please, Iggy. It can be a short one. I'll let you choose.”

 

Ignis sighed and picked up the storybook once again. It wasn't that he deliberately set out to spoil the prince, but in the four years he'd been in Noctis' service, he'd learnt that once the younger boy set his mind on something he did or did not want to do, he was nigh-impossibly stubborn, and putting up an argument was an exercise in futility.

 

He still voiced his disapproval, for the sake of decorum, but the outcome had already been decided as soon as Noctis asked the question – he was getting another story tonight.

 

It was late – late enough that the blaze in the fireplace had already begun to die out – and Ignis pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself, drawing his feet up underneath him in the oversized armchair beside the prince's bed before he flipped through the pages, looking for one of the shorter tales.

 

Noctis frowned, wide blue eyes regarding the bigger boy thoughtfully. “Are you cold, Iggy?”

 

“I'm alright,” he was quick to assure the other.

 

“You should get in the bed. It's warm.”

 

It was Ignis's turn to frown, brows knitting together behind his eyeglasses, the expression seeming too old and out of place for a ten-year-old.

 

“I don't believe that would be appropriate, Highness.”

 

“Why's it not appropriate?”

 

Ignis pressed his lips together, briefly debating his counterarguments. A drawn-out debate with Noctis over the rules of propriety wasn't one he wanted to get into tonight, because it **was** chilly, and he would like to get this over with sooner rather than later.

 

“I have a perfectly suitable bed of my own, Noctis. Perhaps you'll be kind enough to let me return to it sometime this evening?”

 

“But I want another story.”

 

“Then I shall manage with the blanket.”

 

Noctis seemed to consider this carefully. Though there had been whispers of concern among the palace staff about the young prince's generalized apathy towards pretty much everything, he could, on occasion, prove alarmingly stubborn, and even manipulative.

 

“But what if _I'm_ cold?”

 

A momentary silent stand-off, because as innocently as Noctis phrased the question, they both knew precisely the kind of game he was playing at now.

 

“Then your story will have to wait. I'll go and have someone send more wood for the fire,” Ignis offered, rising to his feet and moving to drape the blanket over his Highness's bed. Sensing defeat, the prince pouted and played his ultimate trump card.

 

“I could _order_ you to do it ...” he pointed out. He was the prince, and when push came to shove, Ignis had to do what he said. “Just get in the bed, Iggy. I won't tattle, I promise.”

 

With a sigh of resignation, Ignis caved, because Ignis **always** caved. Noctis was quick to pull up the quilts and urge the older boy in beside him, before attaching himself to his aide's side, pillowing his face against the other's shoulder.

 

Ignis stiffened and pulled back, as if trying to shrug him off, and the prince immediately pouted. “Iggyyy,” he threatened to whine, looking genuinely and personally wounded by his companion's refusal to cuddle. “Are you mad at me?”

 

“No,” he answered truthfully.

 

“Then come get warm. And read me another one. Did you pick one yet?”

 

Reluctantly, the blond allowed it, as Noctis latched on like a limpet once more, all but crawling into his lap. A tentative arm wrapped around the prince's shoulders, since he still needed both hands to hold onto the sizeable leather-bound volume, and he finally settled on a story he knew to be one of his charge's favourites – the one with the chocobo that laid golden eggs.

 

When he'd finished, barely suppressing a yawn, Ignis moved to extricate himself form beneath the seemingly sleeping Noctis. “Stay, Iggy,” he was commanded, as his Highness tightened his hold.

 

“Noctis, I need to go to bed.”

 

“Nuh-uh. Sleepover. You're comfy,” the prince insisted blearily.

 

Ignis told himself it was less that he was, admittedly, already warm and drowsy in Noct's bed, and more that another argument would only wake his Highness up again, as he gave a heavy sigh and leaned back against the small mountain of plush pillows that the younger always insisted upon.

 

He waited until he felt certain that Noctis had fallen asleep before tentatively, carefully, his free hand inched towards dark, blue-black hair. He moved slowly to pet him, as though the prince were a fragile porcelain doll he feared to break, and had been warned never to touch. Gently, Ignis carded the strands through his fingers, marveling at how the texture was always so much softer and thicker than his own.

 

It was during these quiet, private moments that he would sometimes play pretend. Even though he knew it wasn't true, in the darkest, most secret parts of himself he'd imagine that Noct was his little brother, instead of his regent and master. That it was okay for his feelings to stretch beyond professional duty and unfailing loyalty, and it was permitted to actually _love_ the other boy, just like they were a real family.

 

“Iggy … what're you doin'?” Noct murmured, and the older boy's heart stilled in his chest, knowing he'd been caught doing something inexcusable.

 

“Sorry … I'm sorry, your Highness,” he apologised, shamed.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I … overstepped my bounds. Forgive me.”

 

Noctis looked at him confusedly. “I don't mind; it feels nice. Let's go t' sleep though, okay?”

 

“Yes, Highness.”

 

“You're so _weird_ , Iggy,” Noct reminded him, before scooting up to brush a friendly kiss against his cheek and steal his glasses, setting them aside on the bedside table. “G'night.”

 

“Goodnight, Noctis,” he offered in reply, assuring his glasses were folded properly before turning off the lamp. Emboldened by the prince's easy acceptance, he leaned down to press a feather-light kiss against the smaller boy's temple, before resettling his weight against his chest and allowing his own eyes to fall closed.

 

He'd be lying if he claimed he didn't proceed to enjoy the best night's sleep he'd enjoyed in a long time, though opted to attribute it to the prince's plush feather bed, rather than Noctis himself curled up in his arms.

 


	2. Gladio and Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place pre-Altissia.

It had been a particularly long and trying day, even by their usual standards. They'd been on the road for the better part of a fortnight before an engine problem with the Regalia had forced them to make a stop. As such, their retinue been required to make an unplanned detour, leaving the car for repairs and taking a room at a small roadside motel for the night.

 

Their supplies were low, and the simple room didn't offer much more than two narrow beds and a sink; therefore, Noctis had muttered something about finding some kind of take-out for dinner. He'd been immediately shadowed by Prompto, who'd cited the desire to stretch his legs. Gladiolous had called first dibs on the bath further down the corridor, leaving Ignis to take advantage of the several long minutes quiet and solitude to go over the map and replan their route, as well as attempt to rebudget their gil, in light of today's unforeseen expenses.

 

He'd lost track of how long he'd been working out the calculations, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and letting out a deep sigh, when he felt the heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.

 

“ _Six_ , Specs!”

 

“Is there a problem, Gladio?” he questioned, trying not to sound overtly terse, even as his brain already commenced playing out at least a dozen different scenarios of what might have gone wrong **now**.

 

“This, for starters.” That hand grabbed his shoulder again, fingers digging in harder this time, pinpointing a painful knot. Involuntarily, the Chamberlain hissed quietly as he tried to pull away from the touch. “You're a stone.”

 

“In light of everything else, it's hardly surprising, or cause for alarm,” Ignis quickly attempted to deflect the Shield.

 

“Something happens and you take a hit while you're this tight? You're gonna get hurt. And 'in light of everything else', we can't afford to deal with you out of commission,” Gladio argued back, proceeding to punctuate his words as his fingers once again sank forcefully into tensed muscle, earning a flinch in response.

 

The Chamberlain could only fix him with a glare. Recently, they'd all started figuring out how to use some of his own logic against him, and much to his irritation, it usually worked.

 

“Shirt off. Face-down.” His tone didn't leave much room for argument and Ignis fought the urge to roll his eyes. He removed his jacket and dress shirt, swapped his trousers for pyjama bottoms, and set his glasses aside on the nightstand, but refused to relinquish any further items of clothing, including his undershirt.

 

“I'd prefer to preserve some semblance of modesty,” he pointed out, and for a moment, the Shield seemed ready to fight the request, opening his mouth to no doubt launch yet another in the seemingly endless string of jabs at the other man's 'prudish' nature, before thinking better of it. Obediently, the leaner man lay prone on the mattress, wrapping his arms around one of the pillows as Gladio set to work.

 

He was careful, albeit anything but gentle as he set about forcefully dismantling the series of Gordian knots that comprised Ignis's neck and shoulders. Although it was Ignis most likely to be deemed 'the observant one', as warrior and hunter, Gladio had a keen sense for picking up on weakness and/or injury and knowing where to attack – a technique he employed now to painful effect.

 

Though he did his best to keep silent, the Chamberlain couldn't bite back a few quiet, strained groans when the other man targeted a particularly sore point. It hurt, but he knew from a handful of prior experiences, the discomfort now would give way to relief later.

 

“Let me know if it's too much?”

 

“It's fine – ah!” an undignified grunt as Gladio's fingertips pushed between his ribs and he fought to keep still in the face of the onslaught. He wouldn't voice any complaint, no matter what sort of pain the other man inflicted, and they both knew it, leading to something akin to a game or challenge. Gladiolus's touches grew rougher, as though daring Ignis to draw the line between 'helping' and 'hurting'.

 

“You gotta say somethin' before it gets this bad,” the Shield pointed out, and didn't need to be able to see Ignis's face to know the look of disgust that would be written there. The way his fingers tightened in the pillow and the contemptuous little 'huff' he let out made it abundantly clear what the blond thought of the idea. “I mean it, Specs. This is what comes outta you puttin' the weight of everyone's bullshit right here.” Another firm squeeze to the juncture of neck and shoulder, and another suppressed moan from the Chamberlain.

 

“I'm quite capable of --”

 

“We KNOW. No one's questionin' your capability, Iggs, this ain't that. We all know you can manage it all on your own; I'm sayin' you don't have to.”

 

The quiet that followed was mildly uncomfortable, one of those rare occasions wherein Ignis lacked an immediate counter-argument. Gladiolus persisted in the seemingly impossible task he'd set for himself – forcing the King's other retainer to relax – in silence. For the better part of half an hour, the only sounds in the room were the occasional muffled, wounded noise when the Shield's fingers dug in too deeply. It hurt, but there was something oddly satisfying in the pain, bone-deep and bruising, and Ignis kept his eyes closed, trying to focus on the sensations, and not the hundred other concerns vying for attention at the forefront of his mind.

 

He was caught off guard when Gladio suddenly stopped, lying on his own back across the twin mattress, almost oppressively close. He seemed to realise as much, promptly dragging Ignis over to lie against his chest. “Bed's not really wide enough,” he explained, “But I'll be damned if I'm puttin' up with another night getting kicked in the spleen. Noct and Prompto can have the other one when they get back.”

 

Ignis immediately moved to get up. “If you'll relinquish the duvet, I'll make use of the floor. No point in both of us being uncomfortable.” However, he was held fast by an arm around his waist.

 

“Stay put, and go to fucking sleep. Didn't just spend the better part of an hour fixin' your back, for you to undo it all spendin' a night on the damn floor.”

 

“You said it yourself, the bed's not large enough --”

 

“It's FINE. Get some sleep.” Gladiolus didn't let go, and again, Ignis willed himself to close his eyes. Nonetheless, he found it impossible to rest, too mindful of keeping still, and silent, and limiting the contact between their bodies as much as proximity would allow. The Shield seemed to suffer with a similar sense of disquiet; his breathing stayed shallow, and the Chamberlain could both feel and hear his heartbeat – still too quick for him to be sleeping.

 

“ **Unclench** , will ya? You're stiff as a damn board. You're not heavy, but you gotta relax,” the larger man murmured. As if to try and help, he raked one hand through Ignis's hair, before massaging his fingertips against the base of the ash-blond's skull. The other rubbed slowly along the length of his back. His actions seemed to have the opposite of their desired effect, however, as the restrained tension with which his companion held himself only intensified.

 

“Specs …?” his tone was uncharacteristically hesitant, but Gladio pressed on nonetheless. “Forgive me for askin'... am I crossin' a line here? I know you're … particular, about your personal space, but if you're that uncomfortable, hell, I'll take the floor -” ”

 

“No. No … you needn't resort to that,” Ignis was quick to interject, before the atmosphere in the room could become even more oppressively uncomfortable. “I'm merely … unaccustomed to the close quarters. It's an adjustment.”

 

Seemingly reassured, the hand against his back shifted once more, attempting to rub comforting circles, causing him to flinch all over again. “An adjustment you can't make, or won't?”

 

Ignis sighed heavily, and the confession was so quiet Gladio had to strain to hear it. “I can't.”

 

He'd conditioned himself for so many years, making his independence, self-sufficiency, and capability integral parts of his identity. Things like contact and comfort and closeness to others were luxuries he could manage without, had always managed without, and there was a quiet sense of pride and accomplishment to be found in that. At the same time … he feared them. Feared that allowing himself to experience them would make him dependent, and weaken him when they inevitably proved inaccessible or impossible, and were taken away. He couldn't miss something he didn't have, making it so much easier and safer to hold himself apart, using duty and professionalism as convenient walls between himself and the rest of the world.

 

The warm hand stroking against his hair, therefore, was something alien he lacked the proper tools to process and contextualize. The contact was gentle, but nonetheless, combined with the forced introspection, enough to leave him entirely overwhelmed.

 

“I told you to get comfortable, but drooling on my shoulder's a little much, don't you think?”

 

“I didn't – I would never --” he rushed to defend himself, but the words didn't matter much. Gladiolus picked up on the choked thickness in his voice and seemed to instantly realise the truth. Blessedly, he made no further comment in regards to the small wet patch against his skin, or Ignis's uneven, shaky breaths as he shuddered through several long moments of silent distress. Instead, he simply tightened his grip on the smaller man, offering something for the Chamberlain to ground himself against as he reclaimed his infamous composure.

 

“It's okay. You're okay,” Gladio murmured, wondering how he'd not put it together sooner. He recalled how young Ignis had been when he'd come to the castle to begin his service to the prince; whilst he was learning to look after Noctis … had there been anyone to look after Ignis? Suddenly, the man's coldness, distance, and reserve made sense; it wasn't the stuck-up pretension he'd always presumed, but something rooted far deeper. He was not unlike Prompto, who'd also spent most of his youth all but raising himself; however, whereas the younger blond could now become almost overwhelmingly clingy, Ignis seemed to have only withdrawn even further into himself as an adult.

 

“S'nothing to be ashamed of,” Gladio was quick to comment. Ignis had pulled himself back together almost as quickly as he'd broken down, regaining his usual calm. The Shield knew him well enough by know to guess at the kind of embarrassment and self-recrimination that was likely setting in, and wanted to try and deflect it as best he could. “It's stress. And exhaustion. You just need some sleep,” he suggested, almost as anxious to downplay what had just transpired as Ignis himself.

 

“Thank you. You're probably right.” The easy out was presented to him, and the Chamberlain was all too willing to accept it without a fight. Sleep sounded terribly appealing … his eyes and limbs felt heavy, and Gladio was almost inhumanly _warm_. Finally, Ignis allowed himself to succumb; it had taken a considerable amount of time, but the rigid stiffness in his posture gave way. Gladiolus used the back of his knuckles to rub along the ridges of his spine, still trying to offer what comfort he could to try and ease the other man's passage into sleep. The touches became increasingly slow until they ceased, Gladio himself falling into a steady doze. Ignis, mercifully, followed soon after.

 

A couple of hours later, Gladio was awakened by the click of the door as Noctis and Prompto returned. Noctis entered the room first, blue eyes widening at the sight of the pair pressed together on the bed, Ignis seemingly out cold, and was quick to cut off Prompto's chatter with a 'shush' as Gladio pressed a finger to his own lips in warning.

 

“Oh, whoa, Iggy actually **sleeps**?!” the blond stage-whispered, fumbling for his camera in his excitement to try and capture the moment. Gladio gestured harshly for him to put it away, before drawing a finger across his throat in silent warning. “Yeah, yeah … he'd kill us, huh?” Prompto conceded quietly.

 

It wasn't only that; Ignis might not literally kill them, but the breach in trust would certainly murder any chance of his relaxing in their presence to this degree ever again. As Gladio had witnessed and begun to understand tonight, the Chamberlain was keeping more locked up inside of himself than any of them had dared to suspect. He needed their friendship, but first, needed to get to a place where he could **accept** friendship and compassion without guilt or shame.

 

“Leave him be.” A tug on his wrist from Noctis was enough to distract Prompto, who left his camera on the table as the pair got ready for bed, managing to keep their customary whispering and giggling to a minimum. Once the lights were off, all four of them managed to enjoy a decent night's rest for the first time in a long time.

 


	3. Noctis and Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place post-Altissia.

The long, two day journey by train felt even longer, thanks to the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the four of them. Gladiolus was angry, which meant everyone had to suffer for it, the Shield's bad mood hanging over the group like an oppressive shadow. He'd confronted Noctis earlier, and finally given voice to his grievances, but the argument hadn't left either of them feeling any better.

 

Prompto, ever-anxious to prevent further strife, had jumped to intervene when it came time to retire for the night, volunteering to share a car with Gladio, allowing Noctis and Ignis to have a much needed, much delayed conversation. “Just **talk** to him, Noct. Please? I'll work on Gladio, but … you gotta talk about it eventually.” The prince and his retainer had been avoiding each other, and the subject of Ignis's blindness, since Altissia, and the longer they waited, the more painful the topic was likely to be.

 

It wasn't a discussion Noctis wanted to have; as necessary as he knew it was, he'd been putting it off, knowing full well how unpleasant it would prove for both of them. Nonetheless, Gladio and Prompto were right … he had to talk to Ignis. His Chamberlain was already stretched out on one of the beds by the time the Prince reached the sleeper car; he made a point to close the door and take a seat heavily on the opposite side, so that the other man would know he was there.

 

“Highness?”

 

“Yeah, it's me. Still awake?”

 

“As per usual.” That was the truth; Ignis was typically the last to retire, and first up in the mornings, and it seemed as though that much hadn't changed. Noctis wondered though, if his reasons weren't different now, if he was sleeping properly or plagued with nightmares too.

 

“I … I talked to Gladio. Earlier,” he offered haltingly.

 

“Hm. And did you resolve anything?”

 

“Not exactly. I mean … not yet.” Noctis caught a glimpse of one eyebrow raising slightly, from behind the dark lenses Ignis now insisted upon. Sometimes that look was admonishment enough, but it seemed that tonight the other man felt compelled to follow up with a verbal jab as well.

 

“Perhaps the two of you would be so kind as to schedule a date and time …?” he suggested, and for the briefest of moments, he almost sounded like the old Ignis, the subtle hint of dry humour underneath the cutting sarcasm.

 

“You know, you're not innocent in all this,” the prince shot back, almost before he realised he'd said it. A momentary flash of genuine surprise from his retainer at that, before the other man's expression once again turned passive, thoughtful.

 

“And what have I done to provoke Gladio's ire, that he can't tell me himself?”

 

“It's not like he's gonna yell at **you** , considering --” Noctis cut himself off, still unwilling to talk about it.

 

“Considering what? My hearing's still intact, and so is my tongue. I'm still perfectly capable of holding my own in an argument,” Ignis countered evenly, and the prince felt his own frustration rising in response.

 

“Considering he's angry FOR you. Because you won't be. You've got the most right out of anybody, and you just keep … how do you not feel anything, after all that's happened?!”

 

This was enough to earn a heavy sigh, as Ignis shifted in his bunk to sit up against the wall. Clearly, this wasn't something that would be settled quickly tonight, and the man seemed to brace himself, physically, for the arduous task to come.

 

“What purpose would it serve?” He questioned, sounding terribly tired, as though he'd already fought this battle, inside himself, a hundred times over the course of the last few weeks. “I don't regret doing what I had to do. I could be upset, or angry, or bitter … but there's nothing productive in self-pity. We've more important matters to concern ourselves with, Highness.”

 

“I know this is what you do … you focus on duty so you can shut off all the personal stuff, but it's scary to watch, Iggy. For all of us. We can see you pulling away from us,” Noctis struggled to explain, raking his fingers through his hair and pulling slightly on the dark blue-black locks. Their frustration might only make Ignis retreat further, so they'd been hesitant to voice it, but the fact remained. “We don't want to lose you,” the prince added quietly.

 

The chamberlain's frown deepened, the restrained tension with which he carried himself only seeming to tighten. He knew he'd been distancing himself, putting up walls since Altissia, though he'd been trying to convince himself it was for their own benefit, rather than his own unwillingness to exhibit any more vulnerability than his condition forced him to.

 

“I won't permit myself to become a burden to you, Highness. To any of you.”

 

“ **Six** , Iggy, is that what you think?! And lay off the 'highness' shit. Please.” He was always 'Noctis' or 'Noct' when they were alone; the title was one more tactic Ignis always used when he was trying to draw a line between them, reinforcing their roles as regent and retainer, rather than friends or brothers-in-arms. “None of us blame you for this. If anything … I thought you would blame me.”

 

“How could I possibly –? That's in no way logical, Hi-- … Noctis,” he was quick to correct himself with a quick shake of his head.

 

“It doesn't have to be **logical** , if it's a feeling. You have to feel **something** about what happened!” Ignis's lack of emotion wasn't out-of-character, but in the face of something so life-changing and serious … it was unsettling, to say the least. Whatever he was going through, he was keeping it to himself, and it wasn't healthy.

 

“As I explained, dwelling upon something that can't be changed is hardly a luxury we have time for. I'd prefer to address the matters we can control.”

 

“Ignis, we've got another ten hours on this train. Another six before sunrise. There's time now. Pencil it into your agenda or whatever it is you always do.” Noctis rose from his own bunk and moved the short distance across the car to sit beside his retainer on the other. In such close quarters, it was easy enough to lay his fingers gently against Ignis's cheek in a silent gesture of warning before leaning forward to press his lips, gently, against the other man's. “Sorry … I'm sorry … I just … I need you to **react**. Please.”

 

The kiss, whilst entirely chaste, made an impact, seemingly having the desired effect in breaking the chamberlain's carefully held composure. Ignis turned his face away, the gesture borne more out of habit than anything else. “That's unfair, Noctis.”

 

“I know … I just don't know how else to get something out of you, Iggy.”

 

“I feel angry,” he admitted softly. “I blame **myself**. I did what was necessary, but nonetheless … I allowed this to happen, and now I can't … If I permit myself to consider the full implications, the extent of my failures … I feel **useless**.” It would be all-too-easy to let despair sink in, if he allowed himself to dwell on the fact that he could no longer perform most of his duties, that he'd not just lost his sight, but with it, the purpose he'd devoted his entire life to. The emptiness, the meaninglessness of it all would be enough to overwhelm and drown him, hence his steadfast insistence on focusing on anything and everything but his injuries.

 

“Ignis --” Noctis began, sounding pained, but his advisor was quick to hold up a hand to silence him.

 

“Don't, Noctis. Please don't. All of you … your attempts to be kind, your pity... it only makes it worse.” It was like salt in a wound, every time the others attempted to do something to help care for him. It was backwards and wrong and only reminded him of his own impotence.

 

A long silence followed. Ignis couldn't and wouldn't speak further on the matter, and Noctis knew there were no words he could offer that would help anything. Finally, he reached for the novel stuck in the side of the chamberlain's bag.

 

“Is this what you were reading … before?” he questioned, noting the bookmark stuck perhaps three-quarters of the way through the tome. It dawned on him how hard it must be now, for Ignis to keep from getting lost inside his own thoughts, when so many of his prior pastimes were no longer viable avenues for distraction. “Did you want to find out how it ends?”

 

The taller man didn't answer – not at first, and Noctis briefly worried if he'd caused some insult or offense with the offer to read to him. “It'll help put me to sleep, I'm sure. Can I?”

 

“If you like,” Ignis conceded, trying his best to believe the lie that this was for the prince's benefit, and not his own. He was caught off-guard, however, when instead of returning to his own bunk, Noct squeezed in beside him, pulling up the blankets to cover them both as he pulled his adviser against his side, encouraging Ignis to lie against him as he opened the book.

  
For his own part, Noctis kept reminding himself it wasn't pity that drove him to try and comfort the other man when he was in such obvious pain. He was helping … the contact was just one more thing for Ignis to focus on, another distraction for his remaining senses.

 

“I kinda missed this,” he joked. It had been an almost nightly ritual when they were younger, though it had always been Iggy reading him bedtime stories, at the prince's insistence. It felt right, somehow, to be able to return the favour now. Ignis still felt tense and uncertain beneath his arm, and he tried to rub circles against his back, urging him to unwind and accept the small act of kindness, waiting until the other man relaxed under his touch to open the book and commence reading.

 

Within a dozen pages, he felt the rise and fall of Iggy's chest against his own slow down, indicating that his chamberlain had finally succumbed to sleep. Knowing how the other man felt about his scars, and wanting to respect that, Noctis set aside the book and switched off the small lamp above the bunk before carefully removing Ignis's glasses, putting them safely on the shelf for the following morning. With both hands now free, he held onto his retainer more tightly as he began to drift off himself. He'd not been able to say as much and have Iggy believe it, but perhaps as they slept, the message would sink into his subconscious … with or without his sight, Ignis was still wanted, still needed, still belonged.

 

 


	4. Prompto and Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place post-Altissia

Ignis jerked awake with a start, heart racing. Another too-realistic nightmare, wherein he'd become separated from the others … before the worst had happened. A cold, uneasy panic started to rise in his chest when he abruptly realised that their small, shared tent felt decidedly 'too empty'. He couldn't hear Gladiolus's snores, or even heavy breathing, and as his hands reached out, there was no trace of Noctis, or anyone else, beside him. Shakily, he cast his exploratory touches wider, trying to fight his nauseous fear that they were +gone+, before an arm reached around his middle, slim fingers intertwining with his own and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Gladio took Noct night-fishing,” Prompto explained, seeming to read his mind, and immediately helping to put the prince's chamberlain more at-ease. “Since there's other kinds of fish active than in the daytime. They were gonna try and catch something different.”

 

“I suppose I should start making preparations, as I expect they'll want whatever they bring back for breakfast ...”

 

“It's too early,” the blond countered quickly, tightening his hold around the taller man, urging Ignis to stay put. “It won't even be dawn for another hour yet. Let's get s'more sleep?”

 

Ignis seemed to comply, but still seemed tense, uncomfortable in the casual embrace. Prompto was reluctant to let go, not only because Iggy had seemed a little freaked out by the idea of waking up +alone+, but because he'd always quietly suspected that his best friend's advisor was probably more than a little bit touch-starved.

 

Ignis hid it well, because Ignis hid a lot of things very well, but Prompto was intimately familiar enough with stuff like self-loathing and insecurity and _loneliness_ that he'd always convinced himself he'd been able to pick up on little glimmers of the same in the Chamberlain, even before Altissia.

 

Iggy was always so composed, and aloof, and did such an effective job of keeping people at arm's length with dry wit and biting sarcasm, that the younger blond had no idea how to even begin to approach the subject. Was it even his place to bring it up? He was pretty sure Ignis didn't have the same kind of respect for him that he did Gladiolus and the prince. Prompto also knew the man well enough to realise that if he was right, and brought attention to these vulnerabilities, that the chamberlain was most likely to respond with no small amount of shame and embarrassment, viewing his lapse in completely masking and suppressing his feelings as an abject personal failure. Here was the crux of the problem … how to _acknowledge_ the situation, without **exacerbating** it.

 

Still, since Altissia, it had only gotten worse, in Prompto's opinion. It wasn't just glimmers and suspicions anymore; Ignis was continuing to distance himself, and Prompto was entirely certain that he was doing it, in large part, to try and hide a pain that went much deeper than his injuries. He'd tried his best to keep close, an ongoing, unspoken offer for Ignis to lean on him for whatever support he needed … be it physical or emotional.

 

“Iggy …?” he questioned tentatively, as he remained pressed close against the taller man's back. “Was it a bad dream?”

 

“Hm?” came the noncommittal reply. Prompto felt the sigh as much as heard it. “Something like that.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not particularly; thank you Prompto.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” This time it was the smaller blond's turn to let out a long, tired sigh, cuddling closer, interlacing his fingers even more tightly with the other's, as he brought their joined hands up to rest against Ignis's chest. “I'm gonna stay right here though, alright?”

 

“Whilst I appreciate the offer, it's not necessary.”

 

“I know. But I want to.” The lines had become rote these last few weeks, an almost exact exchange between them that took place several times daily, each time Prompto offered 'help'. It spoke to his character, Ignis reminded himself. Though he could be noisy, and irritating, and overly excitable, at his core, Prompto was a sweet, thoughtful, and unexpectedly observant young man. Noctis had chosen his friendships well, and the chamberlain was proud of the people both boys had grown into.

 

Still, since Altissia, whilst Noctis had kept his distance for some time, Prompto had insinuated himself at Ignis's side like a shadow. At first, Ignis had attributed it to the boy's distaste for conflict, avoiding the tension between Gladio and Noctis, but even after the two had finally confronted one another, Prompto stayed close.

 

He'd started humming now, quietly and tunelessly, and Ignis wondered if he even realised he was doing it. One of the things he'd learnt was that sometimes, all of Prompto's little songs were an unconscious habit, a self-soothing mechanism. He wondered if something had the younger man upset, as he continued, fingers absently stroking over his arm and chest, as if the chamberlain were some kind of pet or comfort-object. He was about to comment, when he was caught off-guard by the murmur against his shoulder.

 

“I won't tell anyone, it's ok. We're not … we won't leave you, you know? Noct doesn't forget … he **remembers** people. He remembered me, even when he didn't have any real reason to.”

 

“Is something the matter, Prompto? To bring this on?” Ignis questioned with all his usual seriousness, and this time it was the smaller man's turn to tense up slightly, uncomfortable as he tried to pick his next words as carefully as he knew how.

 

“No … I mean … not with me. You just seem … with all that's happened … I don't want you to feel alone. Alone sucks, y'know?”

 

Ignis hissed in a soft breath through his teeth, deciding that Prompto's sensitive nature could be equal parts blessing and curse. The kid was like a sponge, always seeming to pick up on the moods of those around him … particularly their stresses or anxieties. Perhaps why he always played the clown, the chamberlain mused to himself; cheering up the others meant he didn't have to share in their less pleasant feelings. Now, it seemed, his own disquiet had made more of an impact that he'd realised. Was this, then, why Prompto had attached himself to Ignis these last few weeks?

 

“It hasn't been an easy adjustment,” he finally conceded. “It's kind of you to feel concern for my well-being, but you needn't trouble yourself, Prompto. I'm more than capable of managing things.”

 

“Are you though?” He felt the smaller blond flinch immediately, as if he instantly regretted letting the comment slip out. “I mean … I know you're _managing_. You always manage. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. But still … 'managing' isn't the same thing as 'okay'. Sometimes … you don't seem okay.” Prompto rambled quickly, trying to fill up the silence, when Ignis didn't offer an immediate reply.

 

As the pause dragged on, the few seconds feeling endless, Prompto started to fret. Had he embarrassed the other man? Worse, had he made him angry? Noctis and Gladio were finally back on speaking terms, and he didn't think he could handle yet another fight among their group quite so soon. After what seemed like an eternity, Ignis finally responded, the words slow and quiet.

 

“No … I suppose I'm not.” Instinctively, Prompto moved to hug him tighter, the admission triggering his need to offer some kind of comfort. He knew what it had probably taken for Ignis to confess even that much, and doubted he'd get much more from him … not tonight, at any rate … but at least the door was open now?

 

“Can I do anything to help? You've always done so much to take care of all of us … I want to help.”

 

“There's nothing that comes to mind.”

 

“Okay.” Prompto could accept that. Ignis was proud, and stubborn, and wasn't ever likely to ask for help. He wasn't used to relying on other people, so it made sense that he didn't have many ideas on what to ask for.

 

“Is it okay for me to keep trying, though?” Another awkward silence.

 

“That's very generous of you,” Ignis finally relented. He didn't sound entirely convinced, and in truth, Prompto wasn't fully convinced either, but maybe he'd get lucky and stumble into something that would help make things better. For the time being, he simply settled for holding onto the older man as tight as he dared, hoping that his own warmth and weight might be reminder enough to the other that even though he was hurting, he didn't have to isolate himself in his pain.

 


End file.
